


Tell Me Another One, Baby

by orange_8_hands



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/F, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Love/Hate, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:57:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because she's a werewolf doesn't mean you start this story with once upon a time (pre-canon Laura AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Another One, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : the sex mentioned is consensual but violent. also implied (major) character death 
> 
> I haven't written anything new in forever but I was going through an old word doc and came across this

It's not the beginning, but Laura likes to sit you down, lean right into your face, and tell a story. Your eyes flicker as her mouth shapes the tale, on the way she pauses, runs her tongue along her front teeth, picks out words like it's her first time telling this, like it's a secret. "Her name was Kate," she says, "and my brother fell in love." Her mouth curves then, into something like a grin, if grins made goose bumps crawl up your spine and dance with your skin. She tells you more, details you don't need and can't focus on. There's a claw she presses oh so gently into your throat, and if you're one of the better ones, if you're one of the ones that doesn't flinch, doesn't look away, the only trace after this moment will be the leftover feel of an indentation along your neck. "Do you think love should leave your family in flames?" she says, like it's a question you would answer. "I wonder," she adds, and the claw makes one last glide against tender flesh.  
  
It's not the beginning, but it's the only way to start.

 

  
  
  
It's better fucking her than any one else you've had. It's not like you haven't tied boys and girls up, pounded into them with hands and teeth and power, but with her you can let go completely, throw her head against a wall until you hear the crack, let your fingernails create lines along her sides, bite into her hips like you're a layer away from her taste. You tell her to keep her arms up so she's one long, smooth body waiting to be broken open. You don't have the strength to keep her hands there, don't have the speed to get away if she wolfs out and you need to run, and it makes you wet, makes you pant that you can keep her still in whatever position you place her in. She has too many cracks to be a doll but you treat her like a puppet anyway, play your fingers against nerve endings and tighten your hold until she's lost enough control to flash you red eyes. You speed up your rhythm and announce all manner of dirty things into her ear, and she squeezes her eyes shut even as her body tightens around your fingers. Sometimes you let her come back, float down to where you lay across her body and the room's green sheets. Sometimes you keep pushing her, see how far you can make her spiral up before you'll let her spiral out.    
  
She visits her Uncle every other Tuesday, the only family she still has alive, though that's a generous assessment of how much he survives. You warn her about predictability and being caught, what happens if someone chains her into a root cellar and plays twenty-one questions, but her teeth are sharp and her claws are deadly and she'll look into your eye when she asks you whose left to care. Her only family is a sleeping man who isn't really sleeping, and her brother's lover was torn into pieces and half eaten, her family ripped through like tissue paper. The only ones left are hunters who don't have much skin in this fight, and you need a steady hum of revenge to go after Laura.  
  
You capture her nipple between your two fingers and watch her body arch off the bed. Maybe you do care, if someone manages to get her unguarded. Maybe you do, and when you kiss her you leave blood behind, even if her cuts heal over.

 

 

  
  
It's not the beginning but Laura draws mazes on napkins with ink pens and flirts with the idea of more tattoos and likes the hint of coconut in her dessert. She uses her claws to open letters and she cries in the shower, like the water can drown out the sound of her remembering her life, like there's enough water in the world to block out the raw cries of grieving. She likes blues and she watches you like she's waiting for you to leave, and you don't make promises but sometimes you'll fall asleep to her gentle snores, wake up first so you can see the smile spread when she catches your scent and the morning light is playing across her face.  
  
It's not the beginning but it's a start.


End file.
